Ryuunosuke's Confession
by Oubeniel
Summary: When given the opportunity to live a second life, I just want to be a normal person. But life is not like a dream...


**A disclaimer: I don't own Fate Series (it belongs to ****Type-Moon****).**

**Tags: Rating T for violent.**

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_Prologue_

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I hate the morning.

Not because of how many problems I will face after opening my eyes.

For someone who has such a mediocre life, the biggest problem I face every day is the bill.

But I hate the morning. Even when the dawn is a beautiful scene, with the first rays of sun shining around the corner of the sky, dispelling the cold and the darkness of the surrounding landscape. A scene that I cannot express in words and can only say that the landscape in artistic photographs cannot match what I am witnessing.

But there is a problem.

Instead of making the work that I lost a lot of effort to create beautiful images, the light exposes the excess and ugly things that I want to cut off.

Like this time.

Half an hour ago, "it" was a symbol of perfection. With hidden curves, blue eyes sparkling like a fire in the night.

But when the first ray of light touched "it", perfection disappeared. The greasy muscles sagging in decomposing, patchy spots of black blood and dirt, collapsed chest muscles lack, eyes without life.

How I hate "it" so much. Or rather, I hate materials that make "it".

It should have been the most beautiful body I've ever encountered, with the faint scent of expensive perfume.

A perfect material, destined to become a masterpiece.

But all is a fake.

The girl must have had plastic surgery many times.

Looking at the dissected body in front of my eyes makes my suspicion more confirmed.

Instead of the golden ratio of muscle and fat tissue that I hope to see, these are fake silicone bags. Instead of solid natural joints, it's a soft frame that can only result from leg-length surgeries.

Come to think of it, even though I have been cruel to myself, I can't be equal to the owner of this body.

Talk about masterpieces again.

Yes, you can understand that it is a hobby and an integral part of my life as an artist.

I discovered my artistic talent from a very young age. Five years old? I do not remember. But my first work was.

It was a cat that screamed every night, causing my mother to lose sleep. But just need an extra piece of fish and a knife I made it shut up forever.

It was my first step, like a child who first stood on his own immature feet.

But the way my mother reacted told me that not everyone could absorb that "art." It is a disappointment, a blasphemy, an indescribable pain in words. But part of me is also grateful to them, because of this I have learned how to hide my identity and adapt to every situation thrown in.

Next is a long and boring story. I grew up, became a college student, graduated, left home and applied to work in a small company. Although the salary of an employee is just enough to live through the day, that job gives me time to develop the burning passion that "I" of the past missed. Although not to limit the age that affects my aesthetic concept, I recently realized that I like young girls.

That's.

Girls are easy to control. Similar to the way I seduced the cat, just replace the fish with sweet whispers. Their soft body is a good reason. Finally, the joints in the male body are too hard to shape. What about children and the elderly? So soft.

Back to the main problem.

I hate the morning.

As a responsible artist, I always wanted the best and most beautiful thing to portray to the world, even if I knew I would never make it public to the public.

Alas, look at it. How can I let this "it" exist?

Even when I tried to overcome it, the rising sun only made all the ghosts disappear and illuminated the mistakes that would ruin my reputation.

And not to mention I only have a few hours to deal with it, because eventually, the police will come to this place.

Luckily, my "source" slipped through enough information to help me put the pieces together and plan to flee before they conducted the hunt for me.

The morning also means I can't stay in this city anymore.

Unfortunately, because up to now, Kyoto seems to be the only place that can satisfy my "special" and passionate interests.

Because I'm a nostalgic person.

Looking at the last piece of garbage that had burned to hell, I shook my head to shake off the thoughts of Tokyo on my next trip. It is a promising destination, with great attractions and countless prey. But I will return to Fuyuki, my birth city.

A vacation will take nothing.

A child always has to return to his hometown; that's the right thing, right?


End file.
